The Central High School Class of 1959 was unique in several ways. We were, of course, the last class before South and East opened, meaning the last class to include most of those living south of the Arkansas. I think the unthought rivalry with Centennial had to have diminished after us. I still relish it, but wish I’d been adventuresome enough to have dated a Centennial girl, but I doubt any were any more mysterious or alluring than the Central girls I didn’t date either. (As some of you know I dated Joann Mahaney few times in high school and I don’t mean to imply that she wasn’t alluring or mysterious. We’ve been friends for at least forty years, and we still don’t understand each other. I also had one date with Regina Garlich, and I doubt anyone understands her, including Regina.)
We were the first class to have Sollie Raso as our principal for all three years. Unlike the Class of ‘56 and those preceding them, we came from two different junior high schools. Whether you were a Kommanche or a Cyclone probably had a bigger role in determining who your high school friends were than you might want to admit.
We lived in a period of prosperity, though many of our parents wouldn’t admit it, even to themselves. The mill was the biggest employer in the state and at least one classmate, Marlin Liles, has confidently told me that Pueblo County had the highest per capita income in the state. That doesn’t mean that some classmates weren’t poor, and nearly all of us thought $5 was a lot to spend on a date.
We went to high school in a period of sexual repression. In most of our families both parents had only been married once, to each other. Most mothers worked at home. We read that we were all afraid of the bomb. I can’t remember any of my friends being afraid of that. We had plenty of fears – of being rejected for a date, or of even asking for one, of our parents finding out any one of several things we’d done.
Gasoline sold for 19.9 cents a gallon, and if we had a car, it probably cost less than $200, but many of us walked to school anyway. Some from the Heights took the city bus. Movies at the Avalon cost five cents for those 12 and under and I could easily pass all through junior high.
Whatever our times were, they were ours, and they were a very long time ago, and will never come again. To paraphrase Charles Frazier in Thirteen Moons, anyone who has lived long enough to share even a part of our youthful experiences is a treasure.
I think we’re ready to continue this conversation, and start others. Please write.
Jeff Arnold
